


Taste

by zalil



Series: Craving [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23654521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalil/pseuds/zalil
Summary: Further down the rabbit hole...
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural)/You
Series: Craving [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1575808
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Taste

Somewhere, in the far back of your mind, there was a little part that was screaming at you to tell the boys what had happened, but you quickly shut that down. If you told Sam and Dean Crowley had stayed and given you alcohol until you were drunk enough to allow him to take your blood, you would have to explain why he had wanted it in the first place and you weren't looking forward to that conversation. Sam and Dean were prone to treating you like a little girl even without that bit of knowledge, which annoyed you immensely, so you did not want to discuss it any more than was necessary.

So you didn't say anything and since nobody forbade you to let Crowley into the bunker or warded it against him, apparently it didn't come up between him and the Winchesters either.

Busy hunting, you hardly noticed the weeks going by since that evening. Only on slow days, when the pile of ancient tomes in front of you dragged your eyelids down even before you had started to try and decipher the minuscule scrawl the men of letters had filled endless stacks with, you secretly let your mind wander back. It had been enjoyable, listening to Crowley's tales while being the center of his undivided attention. And that – while cooperative now – he was still dangerous and unpredictable was just adding to the excitement.

You had hoped he would turn up again, maybe to further discuss with the Winchesters what information he had planted to find the mole, or maybe even to visit you – he had seemed to enjoy your company too – but for a long time, he didn't. Enough time passed that you stopped making sure you were dressed to appeal to unexpected visitors before you left your room.

Then, on a Saturday evening, Sam and Dean had gone out to hustle pool and you were sitting on the couch rereading one of your favorite novels, when shoes clicked across the floor in a familiar way.

"Anybody home?" Crowley called out. 

You tried to be cool and refrained from jumping up at the first sounds of his voice. 

"Over here," you answered after a moment, leading him towards you, and stood to take a few steps in his direction. His heels clicked closer and he turned around the corner, impeccably dressed as usual. You straightened your worn out T-shirt, wishing you had chosen something nicer to wear today.

"Hi there," you said calmly, not letting on you felt excited like a little puppy.

"Hello, love," he answered, letting his eyes wander around the room distractedly after a quick glance at you. "I suppose the boys are out?"

At your nod, he sighed heavily. "Of course. What did I expect after this day... Well, no matter."

He took his phone out of his pocket and started to type. 

Wow. You were surprised at how disappointed you were. While you wouldn't consider his behavior rude per se, the change from being bathed in an abundance of his charm to this easy dismissal of you was giving you whiplash. 

"Right," you said, "I'll tell them you stopped by." 

Sullenly, you turned around, planning to sit back on the couch and pick up the book you had been reading. That was about as impolite as you dared to be toward someone who could kill you with a thought. You wished you didn't care about his lack of interest in you, but it hurt your pride a little. Well, you had your own plans. None that required you to get out of the bunker or even out of your sweat pants, but still, plans.

But, turning around without looking where you were going, you walked right into something solid that you were sure hadn't been there a second before. Crowley caught your arms when you raised them in reflex to your collision.

"What's gotten _your_ knickers in a twist, pet?" he asked, voice low and rumbling. "Tell uncle Crowley so he can make it all better..."

There was an unfamiliar, aggressive note underlying his playful tone, and his grip on your arms was just a little firmer than could be described as gentle. Both things reminded you that he probably wasn't the kind of man people usually were short with.

After a moment, expression and grip softened, but he kept his hands around your wrists while he waited for an answer.

With his attention fully back on you, you felt a little silly. He hadn't taken off after hearing the boys weren't home, he might have been planning on staying a little like last time, after all. His close presence made you jittery and his exotic scent, burned deeply into your memory, reawakened the thrill of having him near you.

"You made it pretty clear who you were looking for," you answered, leaving out _"and whom you were not happy seeing"_ , feeling more awkward by the second. You weren't usually this touchy. 

He smirked and let go of your hands, using one gentle finger to push up your face to look at him.

"No reason to get jealous, darling. I just need to take care of a few things, then I'm all yours. Business before pleasure, as they say."

Jealous? You were certainly not jealous. You felt your cheeks flush and looked away from his smug expression. 

"Won't take more than a moment," he said. "Be a dear and open the wine, will you?"

He stepped back, pulled a bottle out of nowhere and handed it to you. 

"Okay," you answered sheepishly. Glad for the opportunity to evade his gaze for a minute, you took it and walked to the kitchen, getting the corkscrew. By the time you had returned, Crowley was lounging upon the couch as if he belonged there, one leg crossed over the other knee. A little black box with gold writing on the top was sitting on the coffee table in front of him. 

He followed your gaze to the box. 

"I remembered I had promised you something in return for the… ingredients I gathered on my last visit."

He patted the seat next to him. You sat and reached for the glasses Crowley had magicked up. 

"If you want some more blood, you can just ask, you know," you said wryly, nodding at the bottle. You were wise to the trick of the bottomless wine glass now. 

Composed and with a drink waiting for you, you felt better, even in the mood for joking – he had just caught you off guard before. You handed him the glass and filled your own.

"Oh, don't worry, I know how to get what I want," he replied lightly as he clinked his glass to yours, but there was a dark undertone in his voice you didn't want to examine too closely. Yet.

"So, what brings you here?" you quickly deflected from his innuendo.

"Why, I was visiting my favorite hunter, of course," he said, eyes wide, but you bought neither his innocent look nor his obvious lie and from the way his eyes sparkled, you gathered he knew. Raising your eyebrows, you took a sip of your wine and waited until he sighed theatrically. 

"All right, all right, I was looking for Dean, concerning tedious political matters, what's new in hell's who is who, who's in league with whom and so on. _And_ I was visiting my favorite hunter."

That, you were more inclined to believe. You told him so and quickly, you fell into conversation, chatting about this and that. You listened curiously to the things he let slip about his life in hell and outside of it and told him about yourself as well as you could without giving away any secrets best kept among hunters. A few times, you noticed the demon steering the conversation gently towards things you weren't ready to tell him. You gave non-committal answers and steered him just as gently away, to his obvious amusement.

"Smooth, darling," he commented with a twinkle when you refused to talk about whether you owned the book he had asked for on his last visit.

He leaned towards you, getting into your personal space again. Surprised, you waited where this was going, holding very still as his face came closer. Up close, you noticed he was growing his beard longer than usual and that it suited him. When he noticed you looking at him, the corners of his mouth curled upwards in amusement. Biting his lip, he kept watching you contemplatively, and let his eyes run down your body. 

Your breath caught in your throat. When he set his wine glass on the table to free his hand, your heart beat fast and hard and you had to force yourself to refrain from fidgeting. But he was only teasing you again, not reaching for you, but for the box on the table in front of you. Nevertheless, you were far from relaxed when he held it out to you.

"Remember when I said I'd consider fulfilling your needs?"

"Vaguely," you answered and now he was the one smirking at you, aware that it was a big fat lie. Okay, maybe you had thought of his offer once or twice. But despite all evidence to the contrary when faced with the demon, you were not stupid and knew there were lines you shouldn't cross.

"Go on, open it."

Chocolate, however, was on the safe side of the line, thankfully. You accepted the box and opened it gingerly, trying not to ruin the beautiful wrapping. You hoped it actually was chocolate and nothing more saucy and when you pulled away the paper, you were relieved and pleased to see that you had been right. The box was filled with an assortment of delicate little chocolates.

"These look delicious," you said, looking up at Crowley. "Thank you."

He ran his hand through his beard. "They should be. I recall that I didn't just promise medium quality."

Blushing, you looked away and reached for one of the truffles, but he covered his hand with yours. 

"Allow me," he said, choosing a different one and holding it out to you. 

Again, you tried to reach for it, but he pulled it away, raising one eyebrow. It took you a moment to understand he was holding it out for you to _eat_ from his hand and when you did understand, you blushed even deeper. 

This felt more intimate than anything that had happened between you before. Accepting the chocolate would mean opening a door to something even closer while at the same time submitting to the way he was leading you. And God, how you wanted that, to just jump down the rabbit hole without knowing what was on the other side. 

Well, the boys were out and it didn't mean you consented to anything more than that, did it? 

His gaze was burning on yours and despite your racing heart, you took a deep breath and bent your head to let him feed you the chocolate.

In the silence, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears was deafening. You carefully bit into the chocolate, avoiding Crowley's fingers. His eyes glittered and his smirk broadened, showing his teeth, and you realized in that very moment that the rabbit hole was leading down to chaos and disaster, but in a very, very seductive way.

Over all the tension between you, you hardly noticed the taste of the chocolate. It was melting on your tongue into an exquisite flavor, as you had expected, but it didn't give you half the pleasure you received from the way Crowley watched you right now, as if _you_ looked good enough to eat.

"Belgian dark," he commented, licking chocolate off his finger. "Do you like it?"

You nodded, mouth still full. Satisfied, Crowley leaned back and snapped his fingers to make music play softly from somewhere in the back of the room, breaking the tension for a moment.

"Did you go all the way to Belgium to get it?"

"I send over one of my vassals from time to time," he answered, then took a sip from his wine. "There's nothing quite like it anywhere else in the world."

Belatedly, you realized you could have offered some to him as well and held out the box. 

"Would you like some?"

"I'd love a white truffle, darling," he said, making no move to take it. His challenging gaze dared you to imitate him and feed it to him from your fingers, and left no illusion as to his intentions.

You plucked up your courage, picked one of the white chocolates and slowly lifted it to his face. Since he had leaned back, you needed to shift a bit closer to him to reach. When you approached him hesitantly, he caught your arm and held it steady. 

"No need to be shy, love, I don't bite," he murmured, "unless…"

"...I ask very nicely?" you guessed with a nervous smile, thinking back to his monologue.

"Exactly," he answered, smirking. 

The thumb on your arm started to move, massaging little circles onto your skin. His touch was not unwelcome, but you noticed the chocolate melting in your fingers, so you lifted it to his face again. He ran his hand down your arm, holding your hand steady while his lips closed around the chocolate, touching your fingers. He kept his eyes on yours, gauging your reaction, and when he found it to be satisfactory, deliberately licked off the chocolate sticking to your index finger. 

You had to keep your eyes from fluttering closed, overwhelmed by the sensation and his intense focus on you. If asked before, you wouldn't have said that having your finger licked was a particularly engaging prospect, but hell, had you been wrong. It caused a shiver to run down your spine and spread all over you hotly, making you feel dizzy even though you had barely tasted the wine.

His stare was filthy when he forwent all pretense of chocolate and just straight up sucked your middle finger into his mouth.

Surprised, you let out a little "oh" and watched his face in wonder as he moved his tongue against your fingertips, stroking up and down, softly at first, then with firmer pressure. It was hard not to imagine him running his tongue along other places on your body, especially when he started to make soft, wet, indecent noises. You hardly noticed leaning forwards until you were almost falling over and all but sitting in his lap, but he held you steady. 

With a last lick to your finger, he took his lips off you. A small smile played around his mouth, indicating you looked as rattled as you felt.

His hand came around your waist, pulling you closer. In his other he was suddenly holding the box of chocolates. He set it to the side and picked up another piece. 

"Try caramel," he said and you opened up automatically, letting him slide the chocolate into your mouth. You were braver this time around and didn't take so much care not to touch him. His fingertips caught on your lips, and you gave them a little lick.

"You know what's even better than eating one of these?" 

He chose one of the dark truffles and popped it into his mouth.

"Mixing them," he said, mouth still full of chocolate.

Before you had realized what he meant, he had closed the distance between you and his warm lips were on yours, softly touching, but not moving. Startled, you jumped a little. Of course it shouldn't have been a surprise, the whole evening had been leading up to this, from the moment you had collided. 

Your movement spurred him into action, and he started to move his lips gently against yours. His cautious approach, giving you time and space to say no or pull away, was unexpected, but terribly sweet. It was also completely unnecessary, since you had no brain power whatsoever for second thoughts.

You let your eyes fall shut. Strong arms came around you and pulled you closer until you were actually sitting in his lap. As soon as you relaxed, he coaxed your lips open with tentative little licks, tasting of himself and the bitter chocolate still sticking to his tongue. You followed his lead, letting him inside you, then exploring his mouth when he withdrew. 

His mischievous side showed when he made a game of it, pulling back whenever your tongue was reaching for his, making you chase after it. It was fun, then it became frustrating and you pulled away to take a deep breath and tell him to stop teasing you. 

You forgot all about it when you looked at him. He was flushed, his eyes burning. Somewhere along the way, he seemed to have lost his tie and opened the collar of his shirt – a state of undress you had never seen him in before. It made your knees even weaker and you missed the right moment to scold him when he started to kiss and nip his way down your neck. 

You tilted your head to give him better access, thanking God you were wearing one of your looser shirts. The touch of his mouth was hot and cool at the same time, his beard just scratchy enough to make your whole body tingle, all the way down. 

When he had finished showering you neck with attention, he faced you and brushed his knuckles softly against your cheek. His expression conveyed so much heat and fondness, you had a hard time believing there was a cold-blooded, soulless beast underneath it all. Sam and Dean had warned you of him in the past, but they had never seen him like this, had never felt his affection directed at them like you did now.

Crowley stared into your eyes, breathing hotly against your mouth, then finally – _finally_ – started to kiss you deeply, without giving you pause or holding back. Dizzy from his hungry kiss, you were glad for the arms around your waist, anchoring you. The kiss amplified the tingling all over your body and you started to squirm on his lap, looking for just a little bit _more_. 

You would have let him do about anything to you just then. In fact, he had you over his lap and half on your back already when you heard steps on the stairs. 

Fuck – Sam and Dean, winners of the worst timing ever award. 

With his demon hearing, Crowley had to have heard them as well. When he broke the kiss you moved with him, reluctant to let him go. He looked at you fondly, then sighed and pulled a face.

"Abandon ship, the husbands are back. I'm afraid there is a limit to what I can get away with," he whispered mournfully and leaned forwards to seize his wine glass.

"Got to dash, darling. Remember me fondly," he quipped, and with a last peck to your lips and a wink, he was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> In these hard times, everybody deserves a little Crowley fluff to brighten their days (and spice up their nights)! :) Love to hear from you, as always.


End file.
